Freak
by clair beaubien
Summary: You look at me like I'm a freak." Dean is tired of hearing that. But is 2am the best time to clear the air? Chapter 2 is now up - the conversation continues the next morning.
1. Chapter 1

_Another _tag scene to Metamorphosis. Other than timing, no relation to "Idiot" or "Doors".

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We drove for a long time. I wasn't tired and whenever I asked Sam if he was ready to stop for the night, he'd shake his head and mutter 'no', so we kept driving. Finally though, I decided we had to stop. We got ourselves some dinner - if that's what you call food at midnight - and found a motel. Sam stayed in the car while I got the room. If his eyes weren't open, I'd think he was sleeping. But I know - he's thinking.

Sammy would never survive hell - not because of the pain or the torture, but because the pain and the torture don't give you any time to think. And if Sam ever wasn't able to think, his head would explode. Really.

Anyway, sometimes I think he thinks too much. He thinks he's different. He thinks I'm scared. He thinks I think he's a freak. He said that - yelled that - at the side of the road. He's said it before, telling me at different times, "Don't look at me like that." I don't know why he thinks that I look at him like he's a freak.

Well, the other day probably didn't help, when I told him he was getting away from being human. But technically I didn't say he was a freak. There's a difference.

Yeah, like that matters, right?

So we're at the motel, going on 2am, each of us laying on our beds, watching some cheesy horror flick on the TV that only plays in black and white.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"No."

I want to tell Sammy that I don't think he's a freak, that I'll save him no matter what it takes, that no matter what, he comes before everything else. I want to tell him that, I _need_ to tell him that. I need him to believe that.

I need him to believe it _now._

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

But I need more light to tell him. I switch on the lamp over my bed, then the lamp on the bedside table. It still doesn't feel like enough.

"Are you all right?" Sam sits up in bed and waits for me to answer him.

This isn't the hardest thing I'll ever have to tell him; I'm still working on that. I don't know that it's the absolute most important thing I've ever had to tell him. But right now it's the absolutely most important thing to me.

"I do _not_ look at you like you're a freak. I don't." I start right in. "I don't know who put that in your head but it is just not true."

Sam looks away, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I hate when he does that. He's done that since he was a little kid, when he knows what I'm talking about but he doesn't want to answer, when he knows I'm not going to like the answer.

"Yeah, all right." He says.

"That is _so_ not an answer."

"Do we have to do this now?"

"Yeah we do."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to have you go one more minute thinking I think you're a freak."

He could lay back down, tune me out, walk out of the room. He only sits there and his breathing gets heavier but there's no other reaction.

"Fine."

"Sam -."

"What? What do you want me to say?"

"That you believe me."

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, getting his 'snotty look' in place.

"Dean - man - I've seen the way you look at me. Ever since Dad told you that you might have to kill me - any little thing I do different and you look at me like you're waiting for me to sprout horns."

"_I do not_."

"Admit it Dean - you've said it more than once: _I scare you._ The demon blood, my abilities, what I might turn into. I _scare _you."

"I hate to disappoint you Sammy - there's a few things I'm scared of but _you've_ never been one of them. Scared _for_ you - yeah, definitely. Scared _of_ you? Never."

"I don't blame you. I know you can't help feeling that way. I wonder sometimes how you can even fall asleep next to me, wondering what's gonna be there when you wake up."

Sammy's got this selective hearing that drives me crazy. Another habit he's had since he was a kid. I say 'no', he hears 'maybe'. I say 'maybe', he hears 'yes'. I say 'you're not a freak', he hears 'I'm afraid to close my eyes around you'.

"Dude - are you even _hearing_ me? I _do not_ think you're a freak."

Maybe I shouldn't have this discussion at 2am. I'm tired and I'm getting pissed. Especially when Sam says,

"I mean like you said - we don't even know if I'm _human_."

That's it. I've had enough. I'm on my feet before I realize, leaning over Sam, pushing my finger in his face.

"_Shut up. SHUT. UP._ Don't you talk about yourself that way, you hear me? _YOU ARE NOT A FREAK._"

I'm tired, I'm angry, I'm _pissed_ and probably not entirely at Sam. But he's my only target right now.

"Yeah, you're an idiot, you're a know-it-all, you're a bossy, pushy, stubborn, geeky super-genius that I find it hard to keep up with sometimes, but _YOU ARE NOT A FREAK."_

I don't know what reaction I'm expecting, if Sam would yell at me, fight back, agree, disagree, or what. He's just staring at me like he's scared of me, leaning back away from me.

"Then why do I feel like a freak?" He asks and his voice is small.

"Because -." _Because you were alone and I wasn't here to tell you otherwise. Because you're the one person you're most likely to think the worst of._ _Because I haven't told you otherwise. _

I pull my hand out of his face and sit down on my bed. This is where we've had most of our conversations in our lifetime: in a motel room, on adjacent beds, pretty much dead-on facing each other.

"You're not a freak Sam. You never have been, you never will be. If anything..." But I don't finish that thought because I'm not ready to tell him yet how far from human _I'd_ gone. If anything, _I'm_ the freak.

"If anything what?"

"If anything, you're probably the most normal person there is."

"Pfft - yeah, _right._"

"Okay, the most _stable_ person. All that you've been through, you just keep going. You don't whine or mope - _much _- or blame somebody else. You pick up and you keep going, even though you've been through stuff that would have driven other people insane."

"I haven't been through anything."

"What are you talking about?"

"_I wasn't in hell."_

That stops me a second. How can he say that?

"Yes you were. Every single day I was gone."

Sam doesn't answer me. He looks down and then away.

"Tell me I'm wrong Sammy. Tell me every single day wasn't a lifetime in hell for you." I don't want to dwell on that though; it's too close to what I don't want to talk about yet.

"You're not a freak. Why would I lie about that? Why would I say you're not if I thought you were?"

"_Because_."

I'm surprised that he thinks he has an answer. He's not supposed to have an answer. There _is_ no answer.

"Because?"

"Because you lie to make me feel better. I know you do."

Well, that may have been true before but -

"I don't think that's been the case lately Sammy. I'm pretty sure I've been telling you the unvarnished truth since I came back." Okay, not about _everything,_ but certainly about this.

"Then why lie to yourself? Why _wouldn't_ you think I'm a freak?" Before I can answer that, he says, "Even Dad thought I was a freak." He says it like a challenge and a regret.

Is _that_ what this is about? Not just what I think, but what Dad thought? What Dad _would _think?

"He didn't, Sammy. He didn't."

Sam doesn't look like he believes me, and for a split second I'm not sure I believe me either. You don't tell one son he might have to kill the other one because you think he's _normal_. But - though Dad was a lot of things, a hunter, a legend, an ass - what he was most of all was a _Dad_, a _good_ Dad, and good Dads don't think their kids are freaks.

"Admit it Dean. All those years, all the fighting, all the anger - Dad hated me."

"Right. He wasted all that energy on somebody he _hated_. Y'ever fight like that with somebody you _don't _love? Don't you get it Sam? All those years Dad hunted Yellow Eyes, he wasn't just doing it for Mom, he was doing it for you too. Probably even _more _for you. I mean, yeah, he wanted to revenge Mom but that was also the perfect cover - grieving, driven husband."

"Cover for what?" Sam asks. He sounds confused but not disbelieving. I roll my eyes like he's a dim-bulb, but the truth is, this stuff is just coming to me as I'm saying it. I'd never thought of it this way before.

"Cover for _you_. Cover for the fact that hell wanted a piece of you. Which do you think Dad wanted other hunters to think? _'I'm hunting the demon that killed my wife,' _or _'I'm hunting the demon that says it has plans for my son.'_? Everything, all those years, all those hunts, the training, everything was to protect you. Even driving around constantly was part of it 'cause we both know it's harder to hit a moving target. Dad spent his life trying to shield you, to protect you, to save you. Now you think on that, you let that roll around and settle in that super-computer brain of yours and tell me _again _Dad thought you were a freak, that he hated you. 'Cause I gotta tell you Sammy, I'm just not seeing it."

He's staring at me like he wants to believe it but he can't believe it but he's trying to make himself believe it.

"Did Dad tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. It seems pretty obvious."

"Not to me."

"And that's how Dad wanted it. He'd rather you thought he was a jerk and focus on that than have you using all that energy and brain power to find out and fixate on what might or might not happen to you."

"_Did Dad tell you that?_"

"_He didn't have to._ Man - Sammy - Dad loved you. Ask anybody _who's not_ _you_ how much he loved you. He did _not _think you're a freak." I let that settle in a minute. "And neither do I. How could I?"

"Dad told you to kill me."

"Dad told me that if I couldn't save you, I _might_ have to kill you. Now - knowing everything Dad went through to save you, knowing what _I'll_ do to save you -." Nope, steering too close to my time down under again. "Sammy, I don't think you're a freak. All I want is for you to believe that."

He doesn't answer me, but he's got that '_really?'_ crinkle between his eyebrows.

"I know we've had a rough few days here, Sam. I know -." _I know I've been a jerk, impatient, demanding, short-tempered. Being in hell and wanting to keep your little brother from going to hell can do that to a person. _"Sammy, you can go on thinking you're a freak all you want. But don't accuse me of thinking it."

Finally - _finally_ - he nods. "Yeah, okay. Yeah."

"And don't you think it either. Don't do that."

"You just said I could."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

My anger is gone, exhaustion is finally catching up to me. I'll probably be able to sleep now but I'm not going to sleep and leave Sam sitting there, _thinking_ about things.

"Is that true about Dad? What you said?"

What'd I tell you? _Thinking. _

"It's true."

He drops himself back into his bed and rolls himself under the covers. Before, before I went to hell, I would've been able to tell if Sam really believes me or if he's just humoring me. Now - he could be humoring me or he could just be _thinking_ about what I told him.

I switch the lights off and the TV and lay back in my bed. I don't think Sam is a freak. I never thought he was a freak. When - _if _- I tell him what happened in hell, I hope he feels the same way about me.

The End.


	2. The Next Morning

As much as Sammy's talkativeness can really annoy me, the times he _doesn't_ talk _really _bother me. It was the next morning. Sam was packed and waiting, sitting on his bed, waiting for me to finish packing up so we could get on the road. He hadn't said much since he woke up. Since our two a.m. conversation. Not that I was in much of a mood for talking either. I just knew that Sam thinking _now_ meant a lot of me listening _later_.

"Dean?"

Guess it was gonna be sooner rather than later.

"Yeah?"

"When do you think Dad first knew something was wrong with me?"

"Oh let's not have _that_ conversation again." I told him. I was so not in the mood. Sam huffed a little and tried again.

"When do you think he first knew something was going on with me?"

"I don't know. He never said anything to me until - y'know - just before he died."

"Yeah." Sam nodded but he looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "But - was there anything, any change, anything different? Ever?"

"Nothing I can think of." And really, nothing stood out in my memory. Except -

"What?" Sam asked and leaned towards me. He could read my face as easily as I could read his.

"You were eleven. You'd just turned eleven." I stopped packing and turned to face Sam. "Dad started taking me with him on actual hunts when I was thirteen and anything he thought was too dangerous for you to come along, you stayed with Pastor Jim."

Sam nodded kind of impatiently. I was telling him what he already knew.

"This was a couple of months after your birthday, school was over. Dad took me with him to a possession in Indiana. You remember? It slammed my hand in the door and broke my fingers?"

"I remember your hand, but I don't remember anything with Dad."

"He had me wait in another room while he did the exorcism, because of my hand maybe, I don't know. The demon was saying something to Dad, but I couldn't hear what it was saying, I could just make out Dad reciting the prayers. All of a sudden, I heard the demon being expelled, and Dad came rushing out of there. The lady's husband was there, she was alive and Dad told him to get her to a hospital and call us if anything else happened, then we booked outta there like we were on fire."

"Headed where?" Sam asked.

"To you. That's what it came down to. We drove all day and night to get to Pastor Jim's, got there nearly midnight."

"How do you know it had something to do with me?"

How _did _I know? What was the biggest difference between that time and any other time we got back from being on a hunt without Sammy?

"Dad woke you up, and he never did that. I mean - yeah, he always checked on you when we got back from a hunt, always went up to the room just to make sure. But this time he woke you up."

SPN SPN SPN

"_John, I wasn't expecting you for another hour." Pastor Jim said as he opened the front door. Dad didn't answer him, just pushed past at a rush, through the front room to the hallway and the staircase where he grabbed the banister and flung himself up to the second floor. Pastor Jim looked at me for answer._

"_He was doing eighty all the way from the state line."_

"_What happened to your hand?" _

_I lifted my right hand, all four fingers taped and splinted in a slightly curled position. 'Form of function' Dad called it when he did me up. _

"_Didn't move fast enough out of a doorway. Sammy okay?" _

"_Sleeping. At least he was. What's wrong?"_

"_I don't know."_

_I threw myself up those stairs too, wondering what I was going to find. But it was only Sam, sitting up, looking really tired and a little confused. Dad was sitting on the bed in front of him, holding Sammy's face in his hands, staring at him like he was trying to see through him. _

"_Hey Dad. What's going on?" Sammy sounded as tired as he looked. _

"_Nothing. Nothing kiddo. Just wanted to see you. You okay? You doin' okay?"_

"_Yeah Dad. Are you and Dean okay?"_

"_Dean got his hand caught in a door, got his fingers all banged up."_

"_He did?"_

"_Yeah, he did. He's okay though. You can see it in the morning. Go back to sleep now, okay? I have to go talk to Pastor Jim."_

_Dad stood up and tapped my shoulder with the back of his hand. _

"_Bed, Dean. You've had a long day."_

"_But Dad - what's going on?'_

"_Nothing." _

_He was lying; I could tell. And I'm pretty sure he could ell that I could tell. _

"_Go to bed Dean. Sammy, back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."_

_I nodded, and then waited until he was gone and knelt down next to the heat register in the floor where I knew I'd be able to hear what was going on downstairs._

"_Dean?"_

"_Shh Sammy. Go back to sleep."_

"_Whatcha doin'?"_

"_Listening."_

"_Dad doesn't like when we listen."_

"_And if you'll be quiet and go back to sleep, Dad won't know."_

_Sammy got out of bed though and sat down next to me. _

"_What're you listening for?" He knew enough at least to whisper._

"_I don't know yet, that's why I'm listening."_

_We sat there awhile, Sammy got sleepy again and rested up against me while I tried to hear what was going on below us. I couldn't make out much, I could hear their tone better than their words. Something serious was going on. I needed to get closer to the grate to hear better._

"_Sammy? Sammy - sit up. I need to move here." I tried to keep my voice to a whisper._

_He mumbled something that sounded like 'don't wanna'._

"_Y'gotta move Sam, c'mon." But all he did was shift like he was trying to get more comfortable. _

"_**Sammy**__."_

"_**What**__?"_

_That did it. A second later I heard Dad coming up the stairs._

"_Crap." I scrambled up, pulling Sammy with me, forgetting that my hand was mush and making it hurt like hell. "Sam - get back in bed. Get in bed." In my pain and panic, I pushed him to my still unused bed, and I dove into his, still dressed even to my boots, and pulled the blankets up over my head._

"_Dean." That was Dad. In the room. Crrrrrap. I surrendered to the inevitable and threw the blankets back. _

"_When I told you to go to bed, what did you think I meant?" Dad asked me. _

"_To go to bed." _

"_Hunh, got it in one. So what are you gonna do now?"_

"_Go to bed." _

"_Look at that - two for two." Dad had his hands on his hips, but he looked more tired than pissed, unlike Sammy who was just sitting there, looking equal parts tired and confused still._

"_Yessir." I said, and I meant it. Trying to hear what was going on wasn't worth the risk after the first warning. _

"_Dad?" Sam asked._

"_Yeah kiddo?" Dad's expression softened a little when he looked at Sam. "How come you're in the wrong bed?"_

"_Are you gonna sleep in here tonight?" _

_It wasn't an out of nowhere question; sometimes Dad stayed with us at night at Pastor Jim's, when we used to be little, when we were sick or hurt. _

"_You want me to?"_

"_Dean's hurt." _

_Dad looked back at me, asking my opinion, maybe even my approval. _

"_Yeah." I said. These were old beds, antiques even. Bigger than twin, not all the way full. "Sam 'n me can share." _

"_Okay. When I'm done talking with Pastor Jim about our next hunt, I'll turn in here. You boys go to bed now. __Both__ of you."_

_We agreed and Dad left again. I pulled off my jeans and boots and Sam helped me pull the blankets apart so we each had our own and then he got into the bed with me, both of us assuming the universal position of brothers sharing a bed: back to back, as far apart as physics and gravity would allow._

"_You're okay?" He asked me over his shoulder._

"_Yeah. Of course you're gonna have to scratch my nose for me for the next couple of weeks."_

"_Ewww - that's gross."_

"_Yeah, remind me to tell you the top ten grossest things you ever put into your mouth when you were a baby." I said. "Go to sleep Sam."_

"_Okay..."_

SPN SPN SPN

"After that..." I told Sam, gesturing between us, "...we were always together. I mean, it wasn't much different from before, take care of you, protect you, annoy you at all cost." Sam rolled his eyes at that, but it was as true as the rest. "Just that one night, something really seemed to - I don't know - _scare_ Dad._"_

"Did _I_ scare Dad?"

"Yeah, that's why he took your head off every time you guys argued, because he was _scared_ of you." That made perfect logic to me, but Sam looked at me, waiting for something more. _"You_ didn't scare Dad. You don't scare me. How many times do I have to tell you Sammy? Scared _for_ you, not _of_ you."

He nodded, still working on it, but a little closer to believing it than he was before.

"So - Pastor Jim knew?"

"I suppose that's what Dad was talking to him about. No way of knowing now."

"He never did anything, or said anything, or treated me any way like he thought there was anything -."

I gave Sammy a look, telling him '_don't say "wrong"...'_

" - _different_ about me."

I could feel my aggravation level rising again. Was Sammy so fixated on being _different_ because he hated it or because he enjoyed it? Or was that even fair?

"There _was_ nothing different about you. If Dad learned something about you, then all that changed was what he knew about you. _You_ didn't change, _there was nothing different about you_. And Dad never treated you differently after that night. Did he?"

"No, not that I can remember."

"See? End of story." I stood up and started packing again. That used to be all it took for me convince Sammy that all really was right in his world. Even though I knew life was never going to be that simple again, I hoped that once, just this once, it would be enough for Sam.

"But Dean -."

_This close._ I was _this close_ to a clean get-away.

"Yeah?"

"What'd _you_ think? When Dad told you about me?" He was nervous asking me, I could tell. "Did you think – did you think -."

"Aw Sammy – that's too hard to answer man." But he was looking at me, still looking at me, like I held his whole world in my answer. I tossed the t-shirt I was rolling onto my duffel and sat down next to him.

"When Dad told me, I didn't know what to think. He told me and walked out of the hospital room and the next thing I heard was you yelling for help and I wondered if whatever he was talking about had happened that fast. Then he was dying, and then he was dead and things were just too messed up to think about at all. Then in River whatever in Oregon, I wondered if maybe Dad had some psychic thing going on for him, if that Croatoan virus was what he meant I had to save you from."

"But Andy and Webber were before Oregon. My visions were for a long while before then. Didn't you wonder? Didn't you think -. Don't you think _now - _"

'_And what are you gonna think Sammy? If I tell you what happened in hell? Are you gonna be scared of me? Are you gonna think I'm a freak? Think I'm a monster? What would Dad think of me if he knew?'_

This was old and I was so damn tired. I wanted to yell at him but I didn't have the energy. It came out a tired plea.

"Sam _please_. For the _last time_ – you're not a freak. Dad didn't think so. I don't think so. You're my brother. You're a hunter. You're just _you_. That's all there is. That's all there ever was. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

I wasn't sure the look on his face said he believed me, maybe he just saw how tired I was. But in our family, you say it – you mean it. Even if everybody knows it's a lie. That had to be enough for now.

"_Thanks_." Sam said. He meant that one, I could tell.

"Sure." I stood up to finish my packing.

'_You're not the freak, Sammy'_ I thought.

The End.


End file.
